From Anchorage to Ushuaia by Bike

After two difficult days climbing up from sea level, we finally arrived in Tequila (1250m in altitude), where we got in touch with Mickael (French) and Sara (Mexican), members of the couchsurfing network. We were supposed to stay and rest one day, but we ended up staying two.

A visit to a retirement hospice in Guadalajara

We went with Sara and Mickael to Guadalajara to visit a retirement home there. They go whenever they get a chance to help out and to bring food: the hospice is in a nunnery and is home to more than 140 older women.

There is no social assistance for the elderly here. In the countryside, the families take care of the elders, but in the city, families often “dump” their aged in hospices like this one. No funding from the state though, it’s privately run. They survive thanks only to donations, and are taken care of by volunteers and by the few visitors they receive. Some women were dropped off here by their sons, who promised to come back the next day, and who haven’t been seen in ten years. The rooms are dormitories, separated by curtains. A few lucky women have private rooms, generally those that arrived here first. There are no medications or nurses. The beds are regular beds, and are not equipped for elderly home care. We helped them play the lottery, sung Christmas carols, and gave out Christmas care packages (filled with candy) and scarves to the 40 or so women who are still about to get out.

Even though we didn’t understand everything the women told us, we knew that our presence with them was enough to bring them some joy.

We also visited the women who were bed-ridden, to bring them their Christmas care packages. One of them had a stomach ulcer, but had no money to pay for medication. The only think she could stand to eat or drink was Sprite. So we bought her some bottles, since there was no one who comes to visit her and she was unable to get up out of bed.

We received many “muchas gracias” (thank you very much) and “feliz navidad” (merry Christmas). One lady even gave us a blessing for the rest of our journey! The whole experience was very moving for us, and we felt very lucky to have state sponsored retirement homes in France, and social security, among others things.

Tequila

Tequila is a town that exists solely due to their production of tequila (it’s true, there is such a place!!). There are many tequilleras, two particularly important ones: Cuervo and Sauza. Certain roads and neighbourhoods belong to these two companies, who combined pay three million dollars in taxes to the municipal government, and who consequently hold a lot of sway in city governance. Generally, they are known here for having contributed little but taken a lot from the community.

The tequila that we are familiar with in France, called “tequila blanco,” is never drunk here, only exported. [A bit like the Beaujolais nouveau from France] This tequila is bottled right after the distillation. The tequila labelled “Reposado” is aged for six months in oak casks to improve it, and the tequila “Anejo” is aged a year. Here, tequila is savoured like whiskey. Who knew!? And when we asked one of the companies why they didn’t export the good stuff, they answered that in Europe, tequila is considered only a drink for getting drunk, and they didn’t want to spoil that image. Very strange…

A micro-entrepreneur

In Tequila, we met our first micro-businessman. It was by chance: we went to pick up some jellies from a friend of Mickael et Sara, and we happened to ask him a few questions. Faustino makes these jellies in his kitchen and sells them himself from his tricycle in the streets! Bingo! We were able to interview him and his family all about their little venture. It was amazing to hear their stories and to talk with them, all thanks to Mickael who translated for us. We made an appointment for the next day so we could see him do his rounds and take a few pictures. Faustino was very proud of his business and generously invited us into his world.

Thank you so much to Faustino and Lily for your hospitality and for sharing your experience with us!

Up next…

After two days of rest in Tequila, we are headed tomorrow to Guadalajara to stay with Carlos and Marta, the parents of Liliana (an old co-worker of mine). Carlos is the interim director of a microfinance institution. When he found out about our project he insisted on meeting us, and then when we told him that we would be around Guadalajara around Christmas time, he invited us to spend Christmas with him and his family.

We’ve decided not to go by bike tomorrow. Sébastien has been sick for four days now (fever, head cold and sore throat) and our bodies need a break. We have also seen the road when we went to the hospice: we would have a choice between either the cuota (toll highway) which is mostly uphill except for the very end, or the free highway which is very dangerous. And since Mickael is driving into town in his pick-up, he’s going to drop us off.

Sara

Sunday, December 14, 2008

1 o’clock – On route 15, about 15 km south of Escuinapa de Hidalgo, headed towards Acaponeta, Sinaloa.

A plastic table covered in bags of dried shrimp, two white plastic chairs, one couple. I decide to stop and check out the scene.

I discover three cyclo-tourists, stopped by the side of the road, taking shelter in the shade of the bridge. Travel bags cover the ground, a bicycle pump lies on the ground beside an inner tube. It looks like a flat tire. In the end, it’s not the shrimp spread that interests me, and I wonder if a short story about this encounter might not brighten up the pages of our newspaper, more often than not filled with somber and gloomy accounts of the global economy.

I watch these three travelers from afar: one is sitting on the ground, leaning against her trailer. Another is having a snack, while the third is changing the inner tube. I make up my mind to go up to them and ask them a few questions. I learn that they are all European, that they started out from Alaska and are heading South. The air is a bit tense at first: the villagers have crowded around the three “gringos” who are keeping a careful eye on their loaded bikes. I watch some Mexicans walk around the bikes, pointing out all the little details. I understand why they don’t feel entirely at ease.

But I ask them a few questions anyway. I start in Spanish, and the cyclo-tourists manage pretty well, and answer as best they can – entirely comprehensible. We switch to English, and I learn that the couple has traveled almost 8000 km so far, and has been gone seven and a half months. I jokingly ask if they need a hand to change the tire, and they tell me that it’s actually the first flat time they’ve had since leaving! I’m totally aghast…

In the end, I’ll write an article on Schwalbe, the professional tire, that only had one flat over 8000 km! (And think, that’s four tires in total and still only one flat!).

AFP

* “Gringos” is used usually to refer to foreigners, particularly North American English speaking foreigners. It is often, but not always, pejorative.

At the end of another straight stretch of road, we finally got La Paz in our sights. 35 km later, we arrived and were charmed by the little city, both bustling and nonchalant.

We stayed a couple of days, enough time to visit an IMF: ASP Financiera.

Then we rode to the ferry dock in Pichilingue, 16 km outside of La Paz. The ferry left at 11:00 pm, and we wanted to be at the docks just before sundown, at 5:30. So we waited. Despite expectations to the contrary, boarding the ferry was an organized affair, but unfortunately, the trip took longer than we thought: instead of arriving at 1:00 the next afternoon, we didn’t get in until 4:00 pm.

Because of that, we stayed in Mazatlán that night, and got to see a traditional celebration: on the 12th of December, children get dressed up in traditional costumes and march around in front of the church to honour Our Lady of Guadalupe.

Now that we’ve crossed the Tropic of Cancer, we’re headed in the direction of Guadalajara, and we’ll start our gradual ascent.

Sébastien

6:15 am, morning wake up. A few stretches. I decide to get up. It’s still dark out, the sun won’t be up for another half an hour. Before getting dressed, I make sure that no scorpion or spider snuck into my clothes or shoes during the night. Wow, the tent is damp. It won’t have had a chance to dry out before we have to roll it up again. The morning routine is accompanied by the incessant and deafening noises coming from the trucks stopped only a few metres from our campsite, in front of the café that kindly allowed us to pitch our tent here last night.

I get my daily dose of gasoline fumes trying to light our stove. I make tea. Despite the noise, Sara is still sleeping when I have my first breakfast. I eat two cups of cold, dry cereal while filling up the six water jugs that I detached from the bike lock and reattach the accessories like the speedometer. The water boils. It’s time to wake up Sara. After she stretches a couple of times, she makes breakfast : tortillas filled with bananas and spread.  We gulp them down while packing up the bags. The tea has got cold, and it is time to fold up the tent and to brush our teeth using the smallest possible amount of water – no more than an ounce.

8:10, we’re back on the saddle for another long day of pedaling. It’s already hot, above 20°C. The thermometer will only go up throughout the day. Since yesterday we’re riding along a flat, straight stretch of road, 90 km long… and we did about a third of it yesterday. The trucks that pass us mark the rhythm of our journey: almost all of them wave to us, and we wave back. After an hour and ten minutes and 24 km down, we take the first break. Some cookies, and then we’re off again. Lucky for us, the wind is behind us today. After a few dozen kilometers, we’ve run out of things to say. We jointly decide to put on the MP3 players, but only one ear bud so as not to isolate ourselves too much.

Finally, the much anticipated event of the day arrives. We reach the end of stretch. We take our first curve of the day after 55 km, and then, it begins again… A new, unending straight stretch of road, trucks driving by or passing us wave and we wave back. Our MPs play the same songs again and again. The sun goes down.

Before we get to the end of the stretch the sun goes down and we have to stop at the side of the road. No shower tonight, we’re roughing it, just hidden from view. We slide, stickily, into our sleeping bags.

Tomorrow, same deal.

And who said that we were “on vacation” for a year and a half?

Sébastien

It’s been three weeks since we crossed into Mexico, and now we are just two days away from reaching La Paz, the biggest urban centre at the southern end of the peninsula, and our gateway to the main land.

Mexican hospitality is as warm as the weather. Only yesterday, a car pulled up alongside us and offered us two cans of coke, well-chilled and much appreciated since the heat was oppressive. It had been a long day of biking, and just as the sun was setting, we were able to camp beside a little family-run restaurant.

We also stayed with Roberta (member of the warmshowers network) in El Juncalito, and enjoyed her wonderful hospitality for the night.

Traveling in a group with Anja (German) and David (Canadian) sometimes makes things easier, and we are able to split the costs of motels and bargain for campsites. But, as in any group, decision making can be lengthy, and everyone seems to need different things: some people want to get on the internet, others want to find a Laundromat, and some would be perfectly happy just to find a place to sleep.

Sara